


that's just what you are

by ladyvivien



Category: James Bond (Movies), Quantum of Solace (2008), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: A bit of schmoop, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, F/M, James cannot be trusted with the ladies, M keeping James out of trouble, Oral Sex, Porn, some feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 05:05:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyvivien/pseuds/ladyvivien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Look how well your charm works, James."</p><p>Post-Quantum of Solace, M isn't going to let Bond's libido ruin any more missions. Bond has a few ideas about how she can help with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that's just what you are

**Author's Note:**

> [unbeta'd, massively porny in places, and then BAM. Feelings.]
> 
> Title from the Aimee Mann song of the same name.

She runs her finger down his bruised, stubbled jaw. 

"You really can't be trusted, can you?" She pulls back, and he finds himself leaning forward, missing her touch. “You can’t keep your mind on the game when there’s a pretty girl around. Or no, that’s not quite right, is it? She’s part of the game. Another benefit, like your fast cars and your suits. You don’t need any of those to do your job. You just like it.”

He’s only here to accept his next assignment. For all he promised her he was back, had never left, he’s avoided being in a room alone with her for weeks now. 

“We need you on this one, Bond. And we need you focused. Volochkov has a wife, Natacha. Beautiful, damaged. Just your type.” He flinches. “She’s got nothing to do with her husband’s work. Keep her out of it. I don’t care if she offers herself to you on a bloody platter, you are not to touch her, do you understand?”

He nods, knowing it’s not the same as a promise. He knows that within a week he and Mrs Volochkov will be tangled together on a bed, and he’ll remember this moment, imagine the cold disappointment in M’s eyes when she finds out, and fuck Natacha all the harder for it. 

Her hand is back, this time forcing his head up so he meets her eyes. Even sitting down she’s no taller than him, but he’s slumped in his seat and he still can’t look at her. 

“I said ‘do you understand?’” she asks quietly.

He thinks of Vesper, of Fields, of adding another name to his list to weigh on his conscience on those nights when even alcohol can’t bring the sweet oblivion of sleep.

“Yes, ma’am,” he mutters hoarsely. 

“I’m not cruel,” she says softly. “I don’t expect you to live like a monk. Unless you’re in the field, who you share your bed with is no-one’s business but your own. You leave tomorrow morning. I’d spend tonight getting it out of your system, if I were you.”

He looks at her in the dim light, her hair ruffled from the number of times she’s pushed her hands through it, exasperated, clothes slightly rumpled. Still beautiful, still the same fine-boned gamine he imagines she was when she was his age.

“Would you?” he asks, promise thrumming through his voice. “Would you really, M? Go to a bar, wait for a man to pick you up, take you home, give you a good seeing to?”

“I’ll ignore that, 007.” Her voice is taut, but with what he’s not sure. He doesn’t know if she’s warning him or herself. She moves back behind her desk, fussing with papers, not looking at him. He’s expected to leave, to go and find that quick, easy fuck she’s prescribed. She doesn’t look up when he stands, and he’s behind her, pressing her against her desk, before she has a chance to stop him. 

He can smell her lingering perfume, something dark and smoky, as he presses his lips to her ear and growls “And what if I don’t want that? What if I don’t want some nameless tart beneath me tonight?”

With an iron will that impresses him as much as it leaves him hard, she doesn’t turn around, doesn’t wriggle out of his grasp, just replies coolly, “Then I suggest you go home alone and have a wank, James. Think about this, if it gets you off. But do understand that I expect you to abstain from any sexual intimacy whilst you’re out in the field. This is your last chance for some... female company for two months, maybe three. I suggest you take it.”

He slides his hands down to her waist, pulling her back against him, making her feel how hard his cock is against the curve of her arse.

“I am.” Her breath catches slightly, and that’s all the permission he needs to spin her around, taking in her flushed cheeks, her lust-darkened eyes. “This is your fault,” he tells her, canting his hips against hers, rutting at her through the fabric of his suit and hers. “You get me all worked up and send me away and wonder why I bed the first woman I see? You created this problem. You solve it.”

She’s breathing heavily, chest rising and falling quickly, and it’s all he can do to keep his hands off her tits. 

“Alright,” she says slowly. “If that’s what it takes to keep you out of trouble. Sit.”

He obeys automatically, wondering how the roles got reversed.

“Do you know what I’d do if I went out and found a woman?” he murmurs. “Before I brought her back to my flat, before I tongued her clit so hard she comes in minutes? I’d find somewhere nice and quiet - a corridor, an alleyway, anywhere we won’t be disturbed, and have her on her knees sucking me off.”

She says nothing, just runs her hand over his straining erection and unbuckles his belt. Trousers and boxers are pushed down his thighs and he’s sitting bare-arsed on her chair as her fingers trail over his cock. He bites back a moan. He’s going to make her work for it. 

“Too much?” he asks, a hint of braggadocio in his voice. 

“I’ll manage,” she says dryly, implying in two words that he’s nothing to write home about. She sinks to her knees and runs her tongue over the underside of his shaft. She takes the tip into her mouth and suckles on it, and his knees buckle. Then she looks up, gives him a wicked little smile and takes his entire length into her mouth without breaking eye contact.

He curses softly, and reaches down to twine his fingers in her short hair. He’s careful not to hurt her, but he wants to remind her what she’s doing for him, whose place she’s taking. If he’d picked up a woman, any woman, he wouldn’t be gentle. He’s not going to hold back for her sake.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “Take it all, M. Show me how good you are at this. You’ve been dying to get your hands on me, did you think I hadn’t noticed? The way you rake your eyes over me every time we’re alone. You criticise my suits, but I notice you’ve never complained about how snugly they fit. A little more snugly when you’re around, but I think you know that. Christ, M, your mouth feels so good. You’ve had practice, haven’t you? How many times have you spread your legs for Queen and country, hmm?”

She merely pulls back and laughs, her warm breath ghosting over sensitive skin. “Unlike you, James, I know not to mix business and pleasure.”

“And which is this?” he asks, but she simply resumes the task in hand until he’s sweaty and trembling. 

He’s close, so close it hurts, but if this is the last tumble he’s going to have before being dispatched to Moscow and three months of celibacy then he wants to make it last. 

He pulls out of her mouth, flushed and panting. “I could come right now, you know. All over your face, your tits, your suit. Send you into your next meeting with my spunk on your skirt, so everyone knows what you’ve been up to.”

She stands, a little creakily and dabs at her mouth with a tissue. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather keep my clothing intact.” She raises an eyebrow, challenging. “So you’ll have to find somewhere else to release all that tension, won’t you?”

When he bends her over the desk she spreads her legs for him eagerly, moaning as he slides his hands up the insides of her thighs. She’s wet, black silk knickers clinging to her folds, and she makes a pleased little sigh as he pushes his finger against the material and inside her. 

If he were half the gentleman he appears to be, he’d repay the favour and bury his face in her gorgeous cunt. But birth, breeding and manners aside, James Bond is not a gentleman. So instead, he yanks her knickers down to her ankles and shoves two fingers in her as she’s kicking them off. 

“So fucking tight,” he hisses. “Been a while, has it? All work and no play make Margaret a very dull girl.”

She stiffens at the use of her real name - she’s never liked it, once confessed to him in an idle, unguarded moment that she’d prefer not to share nomenclature with a certain former Prime Minister he’s secretly always thought she has a lot in common with. This is the first time he’s ever said it out loud, and he likes the way it trips off his tongue. James and Margaret - in another life they’d simply be well-to-do high grade civil servants with a house and labrador in Hampstead. In another life they’d make love in a bed and he wouldn’t be hate-fucking - or at least resentment-fucking - her over her desk. 

In this life, though, he pulls his fingers out of her, takes his cock, still sticky with her saliva, and smears it with her wetness before plunging his fingers back in. He twists and flexes and is rewarded by a guttural moan and the feeling of spongy raised flesh against his fingertips. He torments her G-spot for a few minutes, the pad of his thumb rubbing rhythmic circles on her clit, before he takes his slick cock and eases it between the cheeks of her arse. 

He pauses, the head pressed up against her tight opening. “Yes?” he asks. 

“God, yes,” she says throatily, and he pushes in slowly.

It shouldn’t be enough lube, but she takes it without complaint and when she gasps, he’s fairly certain it’s out of pleasure. God knows he’s taken more with less, usually on her orders. Do this, 007, do that. This mark likes his men muscled and silent, that one likes them to spank her. He’s under no illusion about what he is - M can say what she likes, sex is an essential part of the job. Which is why it feels so deliciously good to turn the tables. 

“Ever thought about taking your work home with you, M?” he asks conversationally, as if he wasn’t buried up to the balls in her arse. “I seem to recall you have a lovely dining room table. Very sturdy.”

“Not on your bloody life,” she snaps. “That thing is an antique.” He laughs and bends to press a kiss against the nape of her neck before remembering that he’s not in the mood to be affectionate with her tonight. 

Instead he leans closer and says in time with his thrusts, “Volochkov is the middle man. He doesn’t have the guts or the brains to buy the uranium himself. My guess is he’s got contacts in the Russian mafia. Ingratiating myself with the family will only go so far. I’ll need a better legend if I’m going to get access to the source.” He rams into her harder, picking up the pace of his thrusting fingers, his thumb sliding over her slippery clit. “See? Perfectly focused.” She spits a swear word at him he’s never heard from her lips, or outside some particularly unsalubrious pubs. “Admit it, M, you’re jealous. You don’t want me getting distracted by Natacha Volochkov’s charms because you want me all to yourself.”

“I don’t want her explaining to a husband with connections to the Russian mafia why she hasn’t been able to walk straight for a week,” M pants. It’s the closest thing he’s likely to get to a compliment from her. 

He slows his thrusts, desperate to prolong this as long as possible. Desperate to provoke some real reaction from her bar the physical. He doesn’t know why she’s suddenly decided she’s not immune to his charms after all. Is she really just being practical? A quick shag then pack him off to Russia and hope he’ll be a good boy? The thought gnaws away at him that she might just be being nice. That it’s her own twisted version of comfort sex. Something to distract him after Vesper, after the Quantum mission went balls up. That it’s a platitude, that this means nothing to her.

Because God, it means the world to him. 

He’d been right when he said he didn’t want some anonymous woman writhing beneath him. Oh, he’s had his fair share since Vesper but he’s been going through the motions. Even when he takes his time, makes it good for them, he’s still using them. Whatever this thing is with M, at least it’s not meaningless. 

“Don’t stop.” 

He realises he’s practically ground to a halt, that he’s half-slumped over M in what feels dangerously close to an embrace.

“Don’t stop, James,” she repeats. He moves a little, slowly, carefully now, and she hums in pleasure. He pulls his fingers out of her pussy to focus on her clit, and she squirms in his arms. “So good,” she sighs. “You’re right, it’s been far too long. I was all wound up. I should have turned to you sooner. You’re so reliable in that respect. Do your lovers know what a little tart you are, James?”

Fine. If she’s pushing his buttons, he can push hers.

“Do the ISC know that the Head of MI6 likes being taken up the arse by her agents?”

She laughs, and grinds herself back on his cock. “Do you have any idea how thorough the background checks are for this job? They probably have a record of every sexual position I’ve ever been in.”

“Sounds like quite the list.”

“I was a 00 too, you know. I know how hard it can be to resist temptation.” 

It takes every ounce of self-control he has not to just pound into her at the images that conjures up. He fights to keep a steady pace, not to hurt her. He allows himself the wicked luxury of spanking her pussy, though, and is rewarded by a sharp cry of pleasure. 

“Such a naughty girl, M. Am I the only one who’s had you like this? I’ve seen the way 009 looks at you. She wants you just as much as I do.”

“I told you, I don’t mix business with pleasure.” There’s a warning note in her voice, telling him to drop it. and something darker, something that sounds an awful lot like pain. He’s not the first, then. 

“It’s a shame,” he tells her. “Someone as gorgeous as you shouldn’t have to take care of herself. And I bet you do.” His voice is low and warm, and from her shudder he knows he’s right. “What if you hadn’t noticed me that night I broke in, hmm? What would I have seen if I’d stayed hidden? Would you have sunk onto the sofa, hitched up your skirt and slid your hand into your knickers and imagined all the ways you could punish me?”

If she was ever faking it, these moans are real. She’s grinding herself against his fingers, his cock, and one of her hands is frantically unbuttoning her blouse. When she succeeds, frees her breast from her bra just enough to expose her nipple, he covers her hand with his and guides her fingers across her soft flesh. 

“You dirty boy,” she sighs. “Such a little tease. Flirting with me and then swanning off to screw some pretty foreign agent whilst I’m left here. What on earth makes you think I wait until I get home?” 

He buries his head against her neck and moans incoherently at the image. He’s never going to be able to sit in front of her desk again without getting hard, without thinking about where her hands might be wandering, out of sight. 

“M, I can’t....” 

She shushes him tenderly, and that brings him closer to the edge than he’d thought possible. “I’m nearly there, darling boy. My beautiful little slut. Maybe I should stop sending you out into the field, hmm? Just keep you here as my personal toy.”

For all he loves his job, can’t live without the adrenaline, the thought of spending his days obediently on his knees next to M’s desk, of his nights tangled in her bedsheets, is the best future he can imagine for himself, half-out of his mind with desire and bruising her hips with the effort not to come before she does.

“I’ll make it so good for you,” he promises. “Whenever you want me, wherever - I’ll even let you return the favour, if you want.” He grinds into her arse just that little more eagerly, imagining himself in her position. 

“Oh yes,” she sighs, her voice shaky. “All mine, James. My good boy, I’ll keep you out of trouble.”

“And I’ll keep you safe,” he tells her. “I know I couldn’t with the others, but I’ll be careful with you, I promise.”

Her breath hitches and she bucks beneath him, hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her screams. She comes for what feels like an eternity and at some point he tumbles after her with her name on his lips. 

He pulls out of her and helps her to stand up properly, unable to meet her eyes. She hands him some tissues and starts to clean herself up, wincing slightly.

He frowns,“Did I hurt you?”

She shakes her head. “Only a little.” A ghost of a smile quirks the corner of her mouth. “As you surmised, nothing I’m not used to. Though it has been a while. Especially since....that.” He nods, awkwardly. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, James! Is this really how you behave with your conquests after the fact? Like a blushing schoolboy?”

He flashes her his best charming grin. “Well there’s an idea that has potential...”

She rolls her eyes, but he notices that she doesn’t actually shoot down the suggestion. “Let’s be coy and just say that I’m a little older than you. Whilst I doubt that I come even close to beating your record, I’ve had my fare share of lovers, inside the Service and out. Let’s not both pretend otherwise. And there will be points when you have to seduce a woman in the line of duty. I accept that, it’s part of the job. If you couldn’t do it you wouldn’t be any use to me, frankly. I just want you to think with your head instead of your cock, James.”

He cups her face with his hands, and her eyes widen. She looks like she wants to pull away, but stays warily still. 

“I’d give all the rest up for you, you know.”

She pulls away. “No.” Her voice is cold, her eyes flinty. “Whatever this is, wherever we decide to go from here, I’m not your...” her voice trails off as she searches for the right word fruitlessly. 

Although her reaction stings, something tells him this isn’t about them. Whatever mistakes she’s made in the past, some agent or subordinate has taken things too far. He’ll take what he’s given, push all his stupid desires and fantasies to the furthest reaches of his mind until he can prove to her that he’s better than whoever came before, that he can be trusted with more than just sex. 

“I don’t expect you to be,” he says softly. “I just want you to be you.” 

She snorts, but her voice doesn’t have the bite he’d feared. “I’m starting to see how you do it, James.” She looks at him frankly, and he feels completely undone by her. “You’re a very dangerous man,” she whispers. “I’ll have to be on my guard around you.”

He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “It’s taken me the best part of a decade to get in your knickers, M. Your heart should be safe for another ten years at least.” 

She grimaces. “Let’s leave time out of it, shall we? I don’t have as much of it as you, remember?”

He doesn’t want to. “I could die in Moscow,” he counters, and watches her try hard not to flinch. “Admit it, M, you’d miss me.”

“I’d miss that,” she replies tartly, indicating his now clean and covered cock. “You’d bloody better survive whatever Volochkov’s men throw at you. I think you’ve ruined me for other men.”

She’s ruined him for other women, too, her and Vesper both. He doesn’t say it. He just picks up his mission folder and gives her that look, the rare one, the one that means he’s understood her order and this is one he’ll follow, this time.”

“I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

She smiles, and reaches up to press a tender kiss on his mouth. He can still taste himself on her lips. “See you in October, 007.”

He raises the tumbler of water on her desk in a mock toast. “To October.”

“Now get out of here, you terrible boy, before I forget myself any further.”

He leaves Vauxhall Cross with a ridiculous smile on his face, whistling. Suddenly, three months of celibacy don’t seem so bad, after all.


End file.
